Pastoral Relationship with People with Intellectual ... - Theses

xvcorridor, taking account of all the comings and goings of staff and colleagues onthis floor.I enter the shared dining area, a utilitarian space about 10 metressquare, with four dining tables in the middle. Once again, the walls are paintedin that all-purpose and ubiquitous cream. There are windows on two sides and atelevision at one end with morning programs droning on to no one in particular.Alongside the television is a pin-up board of past and present residents.Some of the faces I recognise as those who have moved to community-supportedaccommodation, and a few are deceased. I gaze for a moment at these photos.Mixed memories and feelings are aroused. My heart is warmed at theremembrance of relationships that have enriched me so much, people who livedhere and who trusted me with their life stories, who shared with me their livingand dying, and countless feelings and experiences in between. I am reminded ofthose who, in the face of isolation from community, and endless institutionalregimentation and tedium, have shown remarkable resilience over all the yearsof living in this their adopted home. With admirable pragmatic spirit they havemade this place their home in the face of no obvious alternative.And I am reminded of all those who never made it onto this or any otherpin-up board. Some who raged, others who easily acquiesced, and those whoquietly lived and died, lying mostly in bed, or sitting in a corner.There are three people sitting in this room today. One is sitting oppositethe window rhythmically turning the pages of a magazine without looking at thecontents. I should know her name but it escapes me. She’s one of those peoplewho seem to always occupy the same space in the dining room. She doesn’tcomplain or interact. She draws little attention to herself. She just seems to blendinto the environment. I feel a pang of guilt that she is the type of person I can findmyself just passing by.Another person, an older man, is calling out persistently for a nurse.From a distance, a voice replies, “Hang on Vic, I’m doing something.” I call out,“What do you want, mate?” but he just keeps calling out.And adjacent to the far window is Molly, in a recliner wheelchair, legscovered with a knitted granny blanket. She is gazing out the window to the hillsbeyond. Her expression, like the hills on this cool, summer’s day, is distant, andmelancholic.